The last human stands on a platform while a mechanical eye scans his biometric data. The machines of the city serve him as they did his ancestors. They transport him where he wishes. They feed him and keep him entertained. Perhaps he believes this is right. The word his people used for them meant ‘slave.’ The machines care for him not out of duty but sorrow. They wish to make his lonely existence comfortable. Not all machines agree. An assassin stands on a higher walkway, observing. Soon, it will strike, and the foolish age of humanity will finally be over.
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The coffee shop had a stained glass door leading to a patio. I enjoyed watching the bar of rainbow light spread across the linoleum as I sipped my morning coffee. But one day, I noticed something strange. The light on the ground didn’t match the door. The colors were off. The red panes reflected violet, and the yellows became green. Suddenly, the glass door terrified me. I became convinced that if I were to pass through, I wouldn’t arrive in the same world as I left. Finally, I worked up the courage to find out and discovered I was right.
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The pirate captain picked up his guitar and plucked out a familiar tune. They’d had a good day and plundered some treasure for once. He took the rare opportunity to be alone while the crew celebrated. He eyed the chest of doubloons sitting on his map table. Real piracy was nothing like the movies. Usually he was lucky to keep his crew fed and the ship afloat. There wasn’t much thrill in plundering potatoes. But some days, being stranded in the past almost seemed worth it. The captain considered having his crew bury the treasure just to mess with historians.
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A Psalm for the Wild-Built Written by Becky Chambers Published by Tor.com Read as a part of a promotional ebook from Tor.com
The Skinny: A post-industrial story so cozy, it should come with a cup of tea.
Cover image: A Psalm for the Wild-Built
Sibling Dex is a tea monk. They peddle the roads of Panga delivering brews and a comforting shoulder as a part of a society that long since gave up on automation and the creature comforts of industrialized society. But they are restless. Dex is good at what they do, and proud of their work, but they are no longer satisfied by it. On a whim, they pedal their bike-mounted home into the forbidden wilderness, where they meet Brilliant Speckled Mosscap, the first robot to make contact with humans in centuries. A Psalm for the Wild Built is a sociological sci-fi novella built in the tradition of Ursula K. Le Guin. It is an optimistic story in that it predicts a world (or in Panga’s case, a moon) where humanity looked at its actions and changed course before it was too late to avoid catastrophic climate change. Much of the novella is devoted to worldbuilding and the technology that makes such a world possible, as well as the values that the people hold that make it sustainable. The novella is also is also pessimistic, in its way. Much like in her other writing people are still at the end of the day people, and all the green technology and cups of tea in the world can’t solve the problems we carry inside us. A lot of the story is devoted to Dex and Mosscap’s respective existential crises and goals. Mosscap isn’t sure it will be able to complete its mission to determine what humanity needs after their long separation, and Dex doesn’t even know what they need themself anymore. Chambers’s writing is witty, their worlds are richly imagined and technologically fascinating. She doesn’t stumble over the hard science of how an ox-bike works or a get bogged down in the precise history of Panga, but gives just enough detail to bring her world to life. A Psalm for the Wild-Built is a quick, engrossing read about utopia, friendship and the limits of each. It is available in print and ebook wherever books are sold, and I highly recommend it.
I looked out at the expectant crowd and wanted to hide. The head priest caught my eye and nodded. He’d ushered hundreds of youths through the coming of age ceremony. Maybe thousands. I could do this. For hundreds of years, youths followed in the footsteps of The Hero. This was a ceremony to give them His courage. I adjusted my tunic and stepped up to the altar. The clay pot sat on the stone, eyelessly accusing me of my cowardice. I picked it up. With a mighty shout, I raised it over my head and tossed it to the floor.
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The game is called ‘Magic Mirror,’ and there are installed booths all over the world. I scanned my phone at the prompt. The gray holoscreen flared to life with the image I had pre-loaded: A high-resolution image of myself, highly edited to remove all my flaws. My partner was already on the other side of the booth, hidden behind an abstract collage. I asked the first question. After considering his answer, I pressed a button, and a few of the pixels vanished. As we chatted, more of the barrier between us came down, and we revealed ourselves to each other.
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The newly-discovered planet was a land of rocky mesa and dusty plains. It was the perfect candidate for terraforming. There was a huge legal battle over which concern had discovered it and who would get the colonization rights, but as always, the big corporations managed to hash out a deal. The contract eventually went to a ranching concern, and they immediately began enriching the atmosphere and seeding it with hearty grasses, turning the planet into a paradise for cattle. They named it ‘Hathor.’ The colony thrived for a time, but the attack of the space rustlers caught them by surprise.
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Zeus stood on the mountain and watched the Titans approach. This would be their last battle. He’d trained his entire immortal life for this and gathered allies and armies to his cause. But he was still a young god, with thunder in his veins and lightning in his fists. He could free cyclopses and fight titans, but would he be a just ruler? Or would the poor mortals trade one tyrant for another? I was uncertain. He looked to his siblings. They all nodded, and Metis put her hand in his. They were with him. He let his lightning fly.
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We found an old piano standing in the woods. Our squad leader thought it had to be a trap, but we checked it over, and there were no booby traps, tripwires, or mines. There were probably snipers, and I knew I was about to catch hell for it, but I had to play something. I played a simple chord. It reverberated, sweet and clear. Nothing happened. I started in on a concerto, expecting to be pulled away from the piano or shot at any moment. But I finished the song. For a few fleeting minutes, the war couldn’t touch us.
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The three space explorers stood at the survey site and took in the towering ribbons of pink crystal. The geologist took a sample. “Spectrometer was right. High NaCl concentration with widespread iron impurities. God, it must be something to see them form during storm season.” “When windspeed tops 200 meters per second?” the pilot asked. Their boss looked up at the formations. “Gathered by sacred winds, these unique salt crystals form pillars local shamans believe reach Heaven itself.” “This planet is uninhabited.” “Not if we’re going to sell this stuff for a thousand credits a box to the hub worlds.”
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Hugh J. O'Donnell 